


Nikolai Lantsov Fuck-a-Thon

by Leamas



Category: Nikolai Series - Leigh Bardugo, The Grisha Trilogy - Leigh Bardugo
Genre: Bad Smut, Crack, Gen, In-Universe RPF, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-06
Updated: 2020-06-06
Packaged: 2021-03-03 22:55:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,017
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24563452
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Leamas/pseuds/Leamas
Summary: There exists in the Little Palace an underground market of Nikolai Lantsov smut.Unfortunately for Tamar, this is a matter of national security.
Comments: 3
Kudos: 25





	Nikolai Lantsov Fuck-a-Thon

_Breathless, Nikolai Lantsov writhed upon the floor, clawing desperately at his throat with his gloved hands. His lips parted and his chest heaved, but when he tried to draw a breath he failed._

_Above him, General Nazyalensky stood with her arms crossed over her ample chest._

_“What will you do now,_ otkazat’sya _?” the Grisha general sneered._

_Her voice, though cold like frost on the mountains, sent a stab of warmth between Nikolai’s legs. Were he able, he would have groaned, relishing in the way that his whole body responded to her very presence, to the power of her female scent leaking into the room._

_Instead he only looked upon her, helplessness and desire written across his face._

_With the last of his strength, Nikolai forced his hands away from his throat, pushing himself to his hands and knees and crawling towards her. Blackness pressed against the edges of his vision in the wake of the lack of oxygen. It was an effort to crawl the meagre distance to the General, but Nikolai’s strength lasted until he reached her feet, where he pitched forward._

_Zoya didn’t let him fall to the ground. Instead she grabbed him by the hair, yanking him up to his knees at the same time as she gave an unaffected flick of her wrist. Immediately Nikolai could breathe again. He could have cried from the sheer relief of the cold air that he sucked into his burning lungs with an eagerness that he’d never felt before—not outside of what it was that he felt when he gazed upon Ravka’s general._

_“Not fair,” Nikolai gasped as Zoya gave his blond locks a harsh tug. “You give me air but still leave me breathless.”_

_“Get over yourself,” Zoya snapped, backhanding Nikolai hard enough to leave a red handprint on the side of his face._

_Nikolai gasped. Before he could think about what he was doing he reached forward, gripping the fabric of Zoya’s_ kefta _. When he looked up to her, she was surprised to see the adoration that she would have expected to find in the eyes of a puppy._

_“Sobachka,” she murmured. “If you’re going to look at me like some lovestruck animal, then you may as well put your mouth where your money is.”_

_“What money?” Nikolai asked. “I’m Ravkan.”_

_Scoffing, Zoya pushed his hands away from her thighs and peeled back the front of her_ kefta _, revealing her long, powerful thighs. Nikolai didn’t know what to make of the fact that she wore nothing underneath that_ kefta _; did she usually go commando when she was in uniform? The implications hit Nikolai hard—almost as hard as he became at just the thought._

_She hooked her leg over his shoulder. Nikolai felt his mouth begin to salivate, like a dog that just smelled a great, juicy steak. He looked up to her, about to speak, to quip up at her, but with a wave of her hand she drew his breath from his body again._

_Zoya gestured to the cavern between her legs. “I’ll let you breathe only when I’m satisfied.”_

* * *

When Tamar returned from her bath, she was pleasantly surprised to find that Nadia had returned from the labs and made herself comfortable in their bed. Although it had been a busy day, nothing catastrophic had happened to any of her networks and there had been no major breaches of security. Usually Tamar was wary of such a quiet, ordinary day— _the calm before the storm_ —but the sight of Nadia filled her only with a comfortable relief. For the past several weeks their schedules had simply been incompatible, such that they rarely had more than a few minutes together at any point except at night, when they were both too tired to do anything but hold one another. As disappointed as Tamar was, she wasn’t too worried; some periods of time were simply more hectic than others. Having Nadia here, in bed with her, introduced a glimmer of hope that things might begin to quieten down soon…

She kissed her wife and crawled into bed next to her. “If I knew that you were coming back early, I’d have left the bathroom door unlocked,” Tamar said, and Nadia giggled.

“It’s too late for me to take a bath now,” Nadia said, coyly. “I guess I’ll just have to do it tomorrow.”

“I guess that you will,” Tamar agreed, and kissed her again. She settled into bed next to Nadia. “Did you have a good day?”

Again, Nadia laughed. “Oh, definitely.”

“Are you going to tell me about it?”

“It would be better if I just showed you.” And Nadia reached down along her side of the bed, withdrawing three books, each bound in an amateur-kind of way. Nadia handed them to Tamar and sat back. “I found these on one of the work tables.”

Tamar took the first one, squinting at the title. “‘ _A Squaller’s Delight’_?” she read out loud. The title was boldly imposed on the cover, and it was the only thing listed there. Tamar skimmed the other titles— _The Tailor, Undressed_ and _Naked Sunlight_. Each as vague as the others. “What is this?”

“Just read it.” Tamar didn’t trust the way that Nadia was grinning at her, and who was she to say no to her wife? As she took the first one—the shortest—Tamar had a distinct feeling that she’d felt once or twice before, in the days when she was a member of Sturmhond’s crew, especially towards the end. That something was coming.

That she was being led into something from which she couldn’t return. She opened the book anyway, and started to read.

“This is a story about Nikolai and Zoya.” Tamar quickly read a few more pages. Then: “This is porn, about Nikolai and Zoya.”

“ _I know_ ,” Nadia said, looking positively scandalised. “It isn’t even good porn.”

“We can never let Zoya see this,” Tamar murmured. “I think she’d flat out kill someone if she saw that they called her cooch a _cavern._ ”

“Wait until you see this one,” Nadia said, reaching for one of the other books. “It’s about Genya and Zoya, and it’s just really bad. I don’t think that some of the positions that they’re in here are even possible, unless Genya grew a third leg and Zoya just didn’t have a spine.”

Tamar continued to skim the pages of the book in front of her, unable to tear her eyes away from the disaster playing out between the pages. It was like watching a shipwreck, or an inferno. Tamar simply could not stand to look away, even knowing that it would only get worse the more that she read. Or precisely because of that reason.

It was when she reached the part where Nikolai was successfully kidnapped by a group of Darkling loyalists who were eager to get their hands on the Lantsov family jewels that Tamar began to grow uneasy. The layout of the Grand Palace… the kidnapping plot… it was all very accurate, and also very plausible.

“Whoever wrote this knows the layout of the Grand Palace,” Tamar said. “Look at this description.” She turned the book to show Nadia.

“Huh,” Nadia said, skimming quickly. “That is pretty detailed.”

Tamar quickly flipping back through to the scene where Zoya accosted Nikolai while his guards were changing over. “This person knows the rotation of the guards, as well.”

“I guess whoever wrote this works in the palace,” Nadia said. “Someone that could observe it.”

“Yeah,” Tamar said. “I’d sure hope so. If it was someone from outside of the palace that knew…” Tamar felt ill. She studied the book in front of her, as though it could tell her what she needed to know. It wouldn’t, though. She might be head of Ravka’s internal affairs, but even she needed more information before this would point her in the right direction.

“We need to confiscate all of these,” Tamar said at last. “These cannot be circulating if they have such sensitive information in there.”

Nadia, who’d flipped to a random page in one of the books, winced. “It’s sensitive, all right.”

A plan was already beginning to form in Tamar’s head. First, she had to control the damage, confiscating every other book like this that may be out there. Then, she’d have to find the person who was writing it, and deal with that.

She had no idea how she’d look the person in the face who referred to eating a woman out as ‘yodelling in the gully,’ but she supposed that she’d just cross that bridge when she got to it.

* * *

_The battle was over, and Nikolai Lantsov was wary. There wasn’t an inch of him that didn’t ache, the weight of his captivity on the fold crashing against his heavy bones and weighing him down where he sat perched at the edge of the bed he’d commandeered for himself. Yet despite the pain—despite the losses that Ravka had endured—he still found that he couldn’t sleep. For although he endured every loss as bravely as he’d endured the death of his own brother, there was one grief that burrowed itself deepest within his heart._

_One grief that he could not yet endured._

_With a shaky breath Nikolai poured himself another pint of bourbon. He threw his head back, swallowing thickly and allowing the warmth of his drink to cloud his thoughts, leaving him grasping for something solid to hold onto. The haziness in his mind was a welcome relief._

_Then he lowered his head, looking around the dim room that he’d taken for his own, and his breath caught in his throat. For a moment he was certain that he’d left his sanity on the Fold. It was the only explanation that made a lick of sense, because Sankta Alina was dead—he’d watched her body burn atop the pyre—and yet she was here, standing in his doorway._

_A radiant glow poured from her body. She smiled gently at Nikolai, but made no room to come any closer._

I must be going crazy, _he thought, but sat up straighter nonetheless._

_So many thoughts pooled in his head. He swallowed thickly, and was just able to force the word from between his supple, barely-parted lips. It was an effort to keep his voice steady. “Why…?”_

_“I had to see you one more time,” Sankta Alina murmured, lowering her blue eyes to the floor. Her silver eyelashes brushed against her glowing cheek. “One more time, before I depart from this mortal world to join the other Saints in the making of the centre of the world.”_

_“Alina…” As Nikolai began to rise, Alina’s gaze snapped up to meet his own._

_“No,” she said, firmly. “Stay.”_

_Nikolai hesitated, before lowering himself back against the bed. “You came back.”_

_“Yes,” said the Saint. Then, the woman that she’d been before inquired, “Can I come in?”_

_“Always,” he said. “If I knew you were coming then I would have thrown on something else—”_

_With permission granted, Alina crossed the threshold of Nikolai’s room and glided across the floor like a wraith in only a few easy steps. Her warm fingers settled upon his lips. “Silence.” In one smooth gesture she settled in his lap, pressing herself closely against him._

_Shame ebbed at the edge of Nikolai’s thoughts. This was Alina—his friend, and fellow commander, now made a Saint._

_No._

_Not made._

Recognised _as the blessed creature that she’d always been, light made flesh and warmth._

_He’d longed for this closeness before, while she’d still been alive, and to feel her body pressed against his renewed that same longing. It coiled like a heat in his stomach, twisting through him and coalescing in his lower stomach. Before he could stop himself, his hand settled on her knees. Just that touch alone was enough to send an ecstatic ripple through his arm._

_Nikolai raised his iridescent blue eyes to gaze upon his Saint’s perfect face. “How long can you stay?”_

_Sadness tinged the corners of Alina’s face. “Not long,” she said, dropping her eyes. Her gaze travelled along the length of his strong jaw, down to where his neck met her shoulder. Sankta Alina’s hand fell against his shoulder, and it felt like being kissed by the light. Her touch was so delicate—not nearly enough!—and Nikolai found that he only wanted more._

_He only wanted to pull her body against his, to tuck her face against his neck and feel her supple lips against his heartbeat. It was all that he could do to restrain himself. From doing just that. From daring to long for the divine grace of his friend, now his Saint._

_“I can’t stay,” Alina said. “I’m no longer of this earthly world. But before I leave, there is one pleasure that I want to share with you… now that it’s too late for us to have anything else.”_

_The kiss happened faster than Nikolai was prepared for. In a rush of senses, Nikolai suddenly felt her lips against his, her hands against bare skin carved into by the Darkling only days before, while his own hands twisted through her white hair. When she pulled away from him, Nikolai released a low growl and pulled her closer. It might be the sun that ran through her body, but even that heat was nothing compared to what now grew within him, travelling to between his legs and swelling._

_“Stay,” Nikolai growled, feral and desperate in equal measures._

_Alina’s expression softened. “I want to stay with you,” she said. “I can’t, but I wanted to see you one final time before I take my place at Ravka’s altar.”_

_“Let me worship you first,” he said, pulling her closer against him. With one scarred hand he reached for the buttons of her_ kefta _, working fruitlessly until Alina finally sighed, putting him out of his misery. She made short work of the_ kefta _, slipping it from over bare shoulders and letting it fall to the ground behind her. He stared lustily at her petite breasts, small mountains on her glowing chest, with nipples that peaked like stars; and then his gaze travelled downwards, to the curves of her lithe body, radiant in its light, with a holy space carved between her legs where he wanted to live._

_With a strength built from years in the army, Nikolai pulled his Saint into his arms and pulled her onto the bed so that she lay on her back, staring up at him with a hunger that matched his own. She drew a shuddering breath, reaching a light hand that still glowed to touch his powerful arm, now so horribly scarred from his own sacrifice during the war._

_“Your Majesty,” Alina said, her voice light and teasing, yet sultry at the same time._

_Nikolai pulled himself over her, leaning down to kiss her hard. His hands found the hem of her shirt and travelled upwards, allowing his nails to ghost against her pale, Saintly flesh. “I might be Ravka’s king, but you don’t have to address me like that.” He cupped her hip with his hand, the other moving to the hem of her pants. “You shouldn’t,” he murmured. “I’m barely worthy to even worship you,” he added, as he settled between her thighs to indulge on the substance that would sustain his soul._

* * *

David hardly glanced up when Tamar entered the lab with Nadia. No one really did, for that matter. It was early, but a good third of the laboratories were full, with supplies spread across tables. The occasional low hum of a conversation happening between tasks, most likely about the tasks in question, was occasionally heard.

Tamar waited until David noticed her, but he didn’t, until Nadia tapped the opposite side of the table with her nail, and said, “David?”

“What’s wrong?” He asked, without looking up.

“Nothing is wrong,” Nadia said. “Nothing bad, anyway…”

“We have a problem,” Tamar said. There was something especially absurd about bringing an issue related to porn to David of all people. From what Tolya had said about how often he’d been kicked out of the room that he’d shared with Adrik and David so that David and Genya could have some quality time together while they were in the mountains, Tamar knew that David wasn’t clueless or anything like that… it was just weird to be talking to him about this.

“Nadia showed me these.” Tamar handed the books to David to look through. “She said that she found them in here.”

She and Nadia waited in silence while David quickly skimmed. “Interesting.”

“Whoever wrote this is very accurate with sensitive security information.”

“You think the writer is in the labs?”

“Possibly.”

The night before, Tamar and Nadia had debated why the books were in the Materialki labs, and had narrowed it down to three options. The author could be a Fabrikator, or was enlisting the help of a Fabrikator to bind the books—there was a chance that they were a talented amateur book-binder, but when Tamar really looked at quality of the binding she found that unlikely. And if that was the case—and she couldn’t rule it—then it was likely that someone in the labs had purchased the books from someone else, in which case they could get the name of that person from them.

“What do you need me to do about that?” David asked, warily.

“Just let us talk to some of your Fabrikators,” Tamar said. “We won’t be long.”

“Just try not to be too much of a nuisance.”

In a few hours Tamar had stumbled upon what in any other investigation would have been called a gold mine. And it was, at least insofar as evidence and confiscating the offending books. Unfortunately, it meant that she was now in possession of more porn than she’d ever owned in her life. “You’re sure that you don’t know anything about who wrote it?” Tamar found herself asking repeatedly. It turned out that the majority of people who read it had been shown it by a friend, for the same reason that Nadia had showed her: the old _if I have to see it, then you have to see it_ principal that any close group of friends shared.

This accounted for about half the lab, who Tamar suspected were telling the truth.

It was the people who denied even hearing about it the most vehemently that Tamar was most suspicious of, as they were the ones likely to read it and wack off to it. After all, who would admit to having such poor taste? But with no proof, Tamar let them be. More time to sweat it out while she looked at the leads that were available to her.

The Fabrikator in front of her was the only person in the lab who admitted to _owning_ the porn. A Kerch woman named Lama who claimed to be too busy to pursue a relationship with a real man, she’d purchased it directly from the writer, but even knowing this was shockingly not helpful.

“No clue,” Lama said in answer to Tamar’s most commonly asked question.

“So how did you get the porn?”

“I paid for it.”

“But was it delivered to you in the Little Palace?”

“No, no,” Lama said. She wasn’t looking at Tamar anymore, her attention having strayed to the glass that she was creating in front of her. “I had to pick it up.”

“Where did you pick it up?”

“At the drop box.”

“Where’s the drop box?”

“I can’t tell you that,” Lama snapped. “Are you crazy? I will not alienate someone who I have a business agreement with.”

Tamar slowly exhaled, trying to quell her frustration. “I understand, but I just need to know…”

Lama clicked her tongue and shook her head. “No. Stop asking. Besides, it’s never the same place twice.”

“You’ve paid for this… twice?” Tamar asked.

“I’ve made multiple purchases.”

“Hmm.” Tamar thought about it. She didn’t think that she’d be getting an answer out of Lama, and looking at how nonplussed she was by the whole exchange, Tamar had the sneaking suspicion that she wouldn’t be able to get an answer out of her unless she started deploying the serious interrogation techniques—the stuff more suitable for Sturmhond than Nikolai, so to speak. Tamar wasn’t quite at that point yet.

* * *

_Tolya slammed Nikolai against the wall hard enough to wind him._

_“What were you thinking?” the Heartrender hissed in the King’s face. “You put yourself in danger! Did you even think?”_

_“I never do,” Nikolai gasped._

_Tolya set his features into a hard grimace. “You have no heir, and Ravka needs you.”_

_“I know, I know.” Nikolai, having been through much worse, couldn’t understand why Tolya was making such a big deal of this. “But I’m safe, aren’t I?”_

_But Tolya wasn’t convinced. He sighed. When he spoke, it took Nikolai a moment to realise that he was reciting a poem._

The day begins as sunlight dances upon the mountain tops,

Protecting the land from the menacing rays of starlight

That cut through the black embrace of the night.

Yet come high noon, you cower in the shadows.

_His throat tightened. “Tolya,” he murmured, bringing a soft, Kingly hand to Tolya’s thick, meaty wrists that pinned him against the wall._

_There was no time to think more about it, no time for wards. Tolya closed the distance between his mouth and Nikolai’s, his tremendous body enveloping the King as he held him there, kissing him hard enough to bruise. Adrenaline coursing through their blood, they didn’t pull away and instead kissed each other until the memories of the close encounter that had nearly killed Nikolai were covered by the feelings of skin against skin, hands touching each other as they tore at each other’s clothing._

_Nikolai’s hands followed the length of Tolya’s vast body down to his trousers, where he wrestled with his bodyguard’s belt until he was finally able to free the enormous girth from its clothed confines._

_“Saints,” Nikolai murmured when Tolya finally separated his mouth from Nikolai’s, to instead gasp against the crook of the King’s neck as Nikolai wrapped his digits around the truncheon that hung from between Tolya’s legs like another limb. “I had no idea that you were hiding this here.”_

_“Propriety,” Tolya heaved, barely able to form the word. “There are a lot of things that we shouldn’t know about each other.”_

_Nikolai’s fingers brushed against the slit, his touch like ice against the sensitive nerve._

_“But I want to know everything about you,” Nikolai said—and the question currently at the forefront of his mind was whether his own body would be able to fit all of that quaking manflesh that he held between his palms._

* * *

With a disgusted sigh, Tamar shut this book firmly. Already she’d read through almost half of the confiscated material, noting down every mention of the specific layout of the grand palace as well as every time that security measures were perfectly outlined. It was unfortunate, given what Tolya was to Nikolai, that the smut featuring _him_ contained the most accurate description of security protocol out of any of these books.

Tamar was not sorry when she finished that book.

“How are you coping?” Nadia asked, perching herself on the table where Tamar was hard at work.

“Ugh,” Tamar said, leaning the heels of her hands into her eyes. “Please let me forget how to read before I try to get through the rest of these.”

“Aww,” Nadia said. “I brought you tea, if that will help any?”

“It does, actually.”

“Are they really that bad?”

“See for yourself,” Tamar said. “But yes. They are. And I’m not just saying that because I’ve had to read about Nikolai being pegged by my Saint, or the one about my own brother. There are some things that I just don’t want to think about.”

Nadia laughed nervously. “ _Tolya?_ ”

“I know, right?”

“I just can’t imagine that,” Nadia said, reaching for the book that Tamar had just pushed away from her. She flipped it open to a random page, skimming the text quickly. Her frown deepened the more that she read.

“ _‘Nikolai’s heart wasn’t the only thing that Tolya was rending,_ ’” Nadia read aloud. “Saints. That really is bad. I didn’t think that it could get any worse.

“You have no idea,” Tamar said. “There’s one about David and Genya where he talks about eating her eggs, which is just… awful.”

Nadia’s expression reflected everything that Tamar’s dead, monotone voice could no longer summon. “That’s the most disgusting thing that I’ve ever heard.”

“Tell me about it,” she said. “There’s another one where the whole Grisha Triumvirate has a foursome with Nikolai at its centre. It has a very pro- _otkazat’sya_ angle that’s like… oh let me find the line. _‘Why did the King need powers like what the Grisha possessed when his ivory shaft was enough to put the strongest Grisha in Ravka in their places?’_ ”

“His _ivory shaft_?”

“It’s better than calling it a ‘gigglestick.’”

“To be fair, though,” Nadia said, “I get the feeling that’s something that _he_ would call it.”

“I don’t even want to think about Nikolai in that context,” Tamar said. “Which is a shame, because almost all of these seem to be about him. The vast, vast majority of them, at least.”

Of the twenty-five works that Tamar had confiscated, only three didn’t feature Nikolai in some way—the one about Genya and David that had that horrible line in it; the one about Genya and Zoya that Nadia had showed Tamar on the first night; and one where the Darkling had an orgy with the pantheon of Saints on the Fold. Every single other book featured Nikolai as the main character. And somehow, in every story, he managed to get fucked in a new way.

Even more alarming was all of the new ways to refer to Nikolai’s genitals. Tamar thought that she’d heard every euphemism for a cock while she’d been on Sturmhond’s crew, but clearly this was proof that there was always more to learn. She’d never been so grateful for the fact that she was a woman as she was now. While she didn’t appreciate reading the term ‘squeezebox,’ it was still preferable than reading the term ‘man meat of the menacing south’ and being forced to understand what precisely that referred to.

“I don’t mean to rub salt in the wound,” Nadia said slowly, breaking through the agonised silence that Tamar had fallen into, “but I was just wondering if it’s not especially weird to read about Nikolai like this, considering that… you know…”

“That he hasn’t married yet, despite being King for three years? That he doesn’t seem that interested in having any kind of relationship? That he has very little actual fuck energy?” Tamar didn’t have to be attracted to men to know that Nikolai, although handsome and charming, simply did not give the impression that he was interested in having that kind of relationship with anyone. Sturmhond did, which was the strangest part: they were the same person, but while Sturmhond was known to occasionally take someone to his private quarters for the duration of the evening, the idea of Nikolai doing the same was just unfathomable to Tamar.

“How many more do you have to read?” Nadia asked.

“Only two,” Tamar said.

Nadia took the seat across the table from Tamar. “Here,” she said, lovingly taking one of the books. “Let me read one of these with you. If you suffer, then I’ll suffer with you.”

Tamar had never loved Nadia as much as she loved her now.

* * *

_“Nikolai Lantsov,” said the young black-haired man. Nikolai had never seen him before in his life, but he knew immediately who this was: Dirtyhands, the Bastard of the Barrel. With his smile like a knife and brown eyes that glinted gold, this was the only person that the young Kerch man could be._

_“What do you want?” Nikolai demanded. Involuntarily he thought of every other encounter that he had with the Kerch._

_“For once in its life, the Merchant’s Council has reached a unanimous decision,” Dirtyhands said. “Go figure that the only thing that would unite them is a common debt.”_

_“And what is that decision?” Nikolai tried to sound braver than he felt. There was something about the way that Dirtyhands stood in front of him: perfectly still, his gloved hands resting evenly atop his silver cane. It was unsettling, as though the worst parts of Ketterdam had crawled across the sea and coalesced into the body of the young man that stood in front of Nikolai now. Instinctively, he was repulsed, understanding as though by primal instinct that he stood in the presence of something that should be feared. Yet his fear at this creature fascinated him—his red mouth; the pale skin that on his exposed neck, like marble; how his clothes clung to his body, covering nearly every inch of it yet betraying the lithe body beneath, thin as a knife. His fascination was all the more piqued when Dirtyhands grinned._

_“The debt must be paid,” Dirtyhands said, “and they’re tired of waiting for you to throw mere pennies at them. But they’re generous; they will give you time to consider. Before we let you consider your response to our final act of mercy, they’ve requested that I put you in your place.”_

_Dirtyhands shook his head in a controlled, deliberate way as he withdrew a hefty wad of kruge from his own pocket._

_“And where might that place be?” Nikolai asked, unable to tear his gaze away from the kruge that Dirtyhands held so easily._

_Being Ravkan, he’d never seen that much currency in one place before. It made his mouth salivate to behold something so majestic, forbidden if only because there would never be a day within his lifetime when his country nor he as an individual would be in possession of such a generous amount of money._

_Even though for Dirtyhands, this was just pocket change. It was only part of the sum that had been given to him, so that he might put Nikolai in his place._

_The thought alone made his scrotum clench up against him, warming the rest of him._

_“Your desk, of course,” he said with a laugh. “Gripping the edge, with your pants all the way around your ankles.”_

_Nikolai froze. His desk—no. That wasn’t possible._

_“You’re joking.”_

_“The Kerch do not joke when the stakes are as high as this,” Dirtyhands said darkly. “If you’d prefer that I teach you your lesson in a different way…”_

_His grip tightened on the sharp head of his cane—a crow, with a beak sharp enough that it could break bones._

_Something stirred within Nikolai’s loins. The threat, the consequences, the reason that he’d found himself in this mess… indebted to someone that wanted nothing more than to see him humiliated… He was in the room with true power, the embodiment of the strongest currency on the market, and the young man was ready to make Nikolai his bitch in the same way that Ravka was already Kerch’s bitch._

_“Surely you aren’t shy?” Dirtyhands said, laughing then, cruelly. He slapped the wad of kruge against his hand. “I dare say, there’s no reason that you should be. You have a nice ass, there’s no reason that you shouldn’t want to hide it…”_

* * *

Nadia barely able to hold back her laughter and helpless to keep her smile out of her voice as she finished reading about Nikolai Lantsov being spanked by a wad of _kruge_. As she closed the book, she drew a deep breath, almost just holding herself together until she met Tamar’s eyes. Then, she burst into laughter.

Finally she was able to ask, “Who the hell is Dirtyhands?”

“His real name is Kaz Brekker,” said Tamar. “He’s a gang leader in the Barrel.”

“The Barrel?”

“The rougher part of Ketterdam.”

“Isn’t all of Ketterdam rough?”

“Yeah,” Tamar said. “But the Barrel is worse.”

Nadia looked back to the smut, skimming through some of the worst parts and shaking her head. “How do you know that?”

“Well, I’m head of Ravka’s security,” she said. “I’m supposed to know things like that.” She didn’t mention the dealings that Sturmhond had with Kaz Brekker and his group of misfits only a few years prior; briefly, the horrible thought flashed through Tamar’s mind that whoever wrote this story knew about that, but she quickly pushed the thought away. The only people aware of that were herself and her brother, and the Grisha Triumvirate. Absolutely none of them would have ever written something like this, she was certain. It was just a coincidence, then, that the writer decided to include Dirtyhands in one of these.

“Whoever is writing these,” Tamar said suddenly, “is Kerch.”

“Really?” Did Nadia look relieved? “How do you know?”

“The average Ravkan wouldn’t know about Dirtyhands,” Tamar said, “and the jabs about the Merchant’s Council are the type of thing that people only ever say about their own governments.”

“True,” Nadia said. Then: “I don’t suppose that you can just get a list of everyone in the Little Palace who’s Kerch, could you?”

“Not if I don’t want everyone to think that we’re watching them. Besides, I’d still have to prove that they were the person writing the porn.”

“If the writer is Kerch, then that probably means that there’s money involved.”

Usually Tamar disliked operating on stereotypes. Even when there was some truth to it, such as saying that the majority of Zemeni were proficient with guns, it was never safe to rely on stereotypes; assuming that someone could shoot well without confirming first was a fast way to assuming that you had more power than you did.

When it came to the Kerch and their kruge, though, Tamar was more lenient.

“Maybe _we_ can try to commission something,” Nadia said, after a long moment of silence.

“That’s… that’s brilliant,” Tamar said. “We can set a trap and wait for someone.”

“I wouldn’t even know how to go about that.”

“I have an idea,” Tamar said, the idea already forming into a concrete plan in her mind. “We just need to decide on what to commission for our decoy smut.”

* * *

_The Darkling’s firm strokes left Nikolai gasping. How did the Darkling do it? He handled Nikolai’s cock with the same confidence with which he commanded the shadows. The feeling of those calloused palms and fingers against his royal organ was overwhelming, enough to make Nikolai groan as the Darkling pumped him harder._

_“Quiet, now,” the Darkling hissed against Nikolai’s ear. “You don’t want anyone to hear us.”_

_Nikolai forced his gaze to focus upon the Darkling’s immaculate face. Those open grey eyes that reflected all of the same lust that Nikolai felt building from within, threatening to fracture his cock right open if this carried on for any longer. Somehow he was able to command the strength from within himself to really look at the Darkling, summoning the composure to look directly at the Commander… the man who now commanded his most sensitive parts._

_“How would this look?” Nikolai asked. “If anyone were to come here and see—”_

_“They would see_ nothing _,” the Darkling interrupted, and with a wave of his unoccupied hand the air around them descended into shadows. The sudden loss of perspective was nauseating; Nikolai leaned against the wall to keep from slinking down to the floor, and he probably would have anyway were the Darkling not holding him up._

_“You know how to make things interesting,” Nikolai said, not entirely displeased. Not displeased at all, in fact, except for the fact that he could no longer see the tremendous powerhouse of a man right in front of him._

_How long he’d wanted the Darkling to take him like this… to defile him, ripping away his princely innocence._

_“I know what you want.” Nikolai felt the Darkling’s breath against his shoulder, his neck. It sent prickles travelling along the network of nerves all throughout his body. Desperately Nikolai reached up, gripping the front of the Darkling’s_ kefta _just so that he would have something to hold onto, to know that this was really real, because the pleasure radiating from the prince’s southern sceptre was intoxicating. “I’ll give it to you, too.”_

_“What do I want?” Nikolai gasped._

_“Do you not want control? Do you not want me to off that waste of space heir standing between you and true position?”_

_The answer was almost lost to him as the Darkling bit down hard on Nikolai’s shoulder, latching onto his skin as a baby would attach itself to the tit of its mother. Nikolai again screamed, writhing beneath the Darkling; his own hip brushed against the flesh gun sheathed within the Darkling’s trousers._

_Just the thought of that particular weapon firing off within him was enough to make him spasm as he fired ropes of cum from his own pistol. When the aftershocks faded, Nikolai realised that the darkness had as well—enough, at least, that he could see the Darkling’s victorious smirk as he looked down at him._

_“You owe me for that,” the Darkling said, as he began to unbutton his own belt._

* * *

Tamar sat huddled in the courtyard. Although it was late spring, with temperatures reaching heights that made it uncomfortable to be out for too long in the middle of the day, it was still brisk and chilly in the early mornings. Every entrance to the courtyard was covered. Sitting by the southern entrance to the courtyard sat Nadia, reading a book; she worked in the laboratories enough that it was no longer a surprise to see her awake at this time, doing something that other people might consider odd. She was an honorary Fabrikator, in that regard. Patrolling the northern entrance was Zoya, who under normal circumstances would never agree to be awake at this hour, but who volunteered for this duty after reading what was written about her. Zoya was too scary for anyone to be suspicious of, while being too important for anyone to assume that she could possibly give a damn about them, or even notice them. And finally, in one of the upper hallways that looked out upon the courtyard stood Tolya—ready to down anyone that caused any trouble for Tamar below.

It hadn’t been as difficult to put in a request for a commission as Tamar had feared that it would be. She’d cornered Lama on her way down to the labs, quietly pulling the Kerch woman to the side and requesting details about how it was that one might get their hands on some of the reading material that she’d proudly been indulging.

“What do you think I am?” Lama had snapped. “Some kind of snitch?”

“What if I paid you to know?”

Lama had almost taken the offer, then changed her mind. “No. I have a good trade deal with this writer; I’m not going back on that. It’s practically heresy.”

Sighing, Tamar finally fell to her last resort. “I have… needs, Lama.”

Lama quirked an eyebrow. “You have Nadia, though.”

“I do,” Tamar said, “and I’m lucky for that. But why can’t I have both, if I can afford it?”

It was clear by the look that Lama gave her that she couldn’t really see fault with this logic. Tamar was, after all, a healthy young woman, and considering how happy she and Nadia both seemed…

Armed with instructions, Tamar slipped in her request along with the correct down payment into an old history tome in the library, to be picked up at an unspecified time. Tamar would have simply waited to see who came for it, but if she did that then she would have no proof that whoever walked down that row of shelves wasn’t just looking for a book, and innocuously stumbled across Tamar’s request. And Tamar needed evidence. So two days she returned, to find a small envelope tucked into the nearest book that had a red spine. In this envelope was confirmation of her request, along with the location where she would be able to retrieve her commission.

“I wish that my agents were half as committed as this,” she’d said to Nadia the night before.

She was to arrive here early in the morning to collect the book, which would be placed beneath the memorial bench. But rather than arrive at the specified time, Tamar was going to wait out here all night, to catch the writer in action.

Such were the joys of being a spy.

The sun was just beginning to rise when the door to the southern hallway opened. It took all of her willpower to resist leaning out to look, but she’d come too far to blow this mission on such an amateur mistake. She wouldn’t let all of her hard work be for nothing. All of the porn that she’d read about the King that was now seared into her memory...

She just had to wait a little bit longer.

But then she heard it: footsteps on the stone pathways. Then silence as they reached the bench, followed by the shuffle of clothing.

Confront her now? No—she’d wait.

Tamar held her breath, praying to the Sun Saint for patience. It couldn’t be a coincidence that this was happening just as the sun rose, right? Surely she could take that as a sign.

Footsteps reverberated through the courtyard as the figure retreated. Now— _now_.

Tamar climbed out of the bushes, her hands raised. “Stop right there!”

The figure froze. Reluctantly, he turned around, revealing a man that Tamar had never seen before. He wore a Fabrikator’s _kefta_ , and indeed he had the distinctive colouring and facial features that marked him as Kerch. So she’d been right about that.

“Pick up the book,” Tamar ordered.

Behind her, Zoya emerged from the northern entrance, while Nadia emerged from the doorway through which he’d just come.

“This is him,” Zoya hissed, raising her own hands.

“There’s really some mistake,” the Fabrikator said, but when Tamar shook her head he fell into silence.

“You’ll have time to explain yourself in good time,” she said, then turned to Nadia. “Go find David and Genya. Call a meeting, and be sure that Nikolai is there. We have a lot to discuss.”

* * *

_“I know that this situation is sticky,” the King said to the ambassador, “but there must be some options that we haven’t explored.”_

_Magnus Opjer studied Nikolai for a time, basking in the glow of the Ravkan king’s golden hair—worth more than the country’s entire treasury—and his clever hazel eyes. Nikolai was a fine specimen of a man, with broad shoulders and some good height. Yes, it was clear at just a glance that Nikolai was an ideal male…_

_“Tell me your thoughts,” Opjer said._

_“I think that it’s awfully muggy for this time of the year, and trade deals with Novyi Zem are becoming especially precarious right now. I think that I help command two powerful armies, one of which by nature is the sworn enemy of your people’s holy order. I think that right now there are far too many Lantsov pretenders and that they’re all growing too bold, with too many people supporting them—financially or otherwise. And I think that while we’re all busy worrying about that, we’re wasting precious time when our people can establish a connection… one that’s mutually beneficial for us both. We need to come to some negotiation,” Nikolai finished, with a sigh. “Your hands are tied; perhaps we’d have a better understanding if mine were, too.”_

_“Hmm.” Opjer fingered the satin scarf that belonged to his wife, that he’d brought along to keep him company during the long months that he spent in Ravka. The night before he’d wrapped it around his cock and made as though he were drying dishes until finally he made his purchase; it was the only way that he could find satisfaction here, for as a pious follower of Djel he would never lay with another woman except for his wife. But when he looked at the spry young King before him, as built as any Fjerdan that he might have back home…_

_Well, it was only adultery if he fornicated with another woman, right?_

_“Maybe there are some options that haven’t been explored,” he concluded. He could think of many._

_With a perfect understanding of what the situation required of him, Nikolai gracefully stepped forward, kneeling before the Fjerdan emissary. He held his hands forward, wrists touching. Opjer shook his head, and Nikolai looked to him in confused askance._

_“Turn around,” Opjer ordered. “Put your hands behind your back.”_

_A sly grin spread across Nikolai’s face. “You demon.”_

_Opjer frowned. “Don’t speak, King of Ravka. Just obey.”_

_And Nikolai… obliged. Opjer bound his wrists with his wife’s satin scarf, tying them off firmly and testing the give. Nikolai twisted his wrists, but was helpless to do anything about the situation that he found himself in. He cast a sultry look over his shoulder, down to the ambassador now eying up his royal body through his clothing._

_“Let me see you,” he said, motioning with his hand for Nikolai to turn around, then pushing him down to his knees with one hand. His other hand strayed to his own belt, which he began to unbuckle. “Yes, I think that this is a better view.”_

_“To look at something from a different angle?” Nikolai should have taken off his jacket first, before he’d allowed Opjer to bind him like this. Already his skin was growing warm as blood pumped through him._

_He couldn’t help the nerves that followed his blood through every inch of his body. Here he was, on his knees, bound before a foreign dignitary._

_“Something like that,” Opjer said, cupping Nikolai’s jaw with his broad Fjerdan hand. He rubbed his thumb on Nikolai’s lower lip. “I can think of a better use of this pretty mouth than negotiations…”_

_“Isn’t this a kind of negotiation?”_

_“It’s an agreement,” Opjer said, unbuttoning his pants and freeing his rock hard organic Fjerdan sausage._

* * *

“I wish that politics were like that,” said Nikolai, setting the offending document in front of him. The first fifteen minutes of this meeting were spent in silent as everyone who was gathered reviewed the documents that Tamar had collected. Nikolai, being the quickest reader out of everyone here, unfortunately had more time to skim through as many of these books as was available.

“I don’t,” Genya grumbled, grimacing at what she had in front of her. She raised her head and turned to the culprit, the writer of the porn. “Did people really pay you for this?”

“Hey!” snapped the Fabrikator—a young Kerch man called Vidar. “Don’t insult my clients!”

For the past fifteen minutes he’d sat in total silence, rigid in his seat as the others all skimmed through the documents. He wavered between a horrible dread that infected all of his features and a state of resignation where he drew many deep breaths, with his eyes closed.

Now he glared at Genya, a new defiance striking out all of the nerves.

“It really is that bad, though,” Nadia said; she’d been allowed to sit in this meeting despite not technically having the clearance to be here, at Tamar’s discretion and without any real objection. “I don’t mean to be rude, but I just find it really difficult to imagine that anyone would think that this is hot.”

“Of course you would say that,” Vidar said. “You don’t like men in that way. Have you read—”

“The one about Zoya and Genya?” Nadia interrupted. Vidar nodded. “Unfortunately. I just don’t think it’s sexy to say that you’re—let me find the line… here it is. _Swallowing the essence of Genya with the enthusiasm reserved for swallowing mussels._ ”

“You realise that you’re accusing me of ripping off my customers,” Vidar said slowly.

“I just don’t appreciate being compared to food,” Genya said. “Between that and the egg thing, and the thing about Nikolai biting my thigh like a chicken leg.”

“Oh Ghezen,” Vidar muttered, suddenly staring at Genya as though seeing her for the first time. “I hadn’t even considered how that would come across. I’m so sorry, if I could take it back—”

“What?”

“Because you’ve already been eaten—”

“I’m not offended because I was bitten by the _nichevo'ya_ ,” Genya interrupted. “I’m offended because it’s… because….” She didn’t even know where to start.

“Because he’s a talentless hack who’s clearly never seen a naked body except for his own?” Zoya snapped. She sat at Nikolai’s side, and since dragging Vidar to this room and venomously ordering him to sit, had said nothing. The curling disgust on her face spoke volumes, though; somehow, it was different to the usual disdain that followed her. She’d read through only one of the books before pushing it away from herself, having seen enough.

Nikolai, at least, looked amused; he seemed to be the only person who was.

“This is beside the point,” Tamar said, tactfully stealing back the moment while everyone considered what it was that they were reading. “The problem, Vidar, is that you were very detailed in your description of the Grand Palace, as well as your description of the security measures to protect the King.”

“Well,” said Vidar, “I wanted to be accurate.”

Tolya scoffed. “You have _no right_ to talk about accuracy when you’d have me so blatantly bastardise that poem.”

“What do you mean?” Vidar said. “I used the most up-to-date translation available.”

“But you took it out of context,” Tolya snapped. “That isn’t a _love_ poem. In its actual context, it’s a declaration of war, which you’d know if you did more than a basic summary research.”

Tamar put a hand on Tolya’s arm. He was angry, understandably, although his voice was perfectly controlled and level. She squeezed his arm, and he sat back in his seat, crossing his arms over his chest. It was a minor aside, but right now Tamar was only grateful that Tolya hadn’t taken issue with Vidar’s vivid descriptions of his ‘truncheon.’

“Vidar,” Tamar said. “Do you understand why it is that you’re here?”

“You don’t like my writing,” Vidar said warily, “and you want to silence me.”

Silence. Then Tamar shook her head. “No, Vidar. We… reluctantly, encourage any artistic passion. But you are _very detailed_ when you talk about the security in the Grand Palace, and the procedures that guards follow. You’ve written one very detailed kidnapping scene that is plausible, and you have another scene where Zoya successfully sneaks into Nikolai’s bedroom. You’ve written a lot of stories around his schedule.”

Vidar said nothing at first, but gradually he frowned. “I see.”

“Can you understand why this might be a problem, if these books get out there?” Tamar asked. “Say, if the Fjerdan army gets their hands on them? Or one of the many Lantsov pretenders?”

“Well,” Vidar said after a time, after a time. His neck was starting to turn pink. “I can see where perhaps I allowed my enthusiasm to run away with me.”

“One of the places,” Zoya muttered.

“Are you going to arrest me for porn crimes?”

“No,” Tamar said. “But we are going to confiscate everything that is potentially incriminating, or in violation of the Official Secrets Act.”

Vidar stood up, angrily slamming his hands on the table. “But people paid for these!”

“Sit down,” Tolya snapped, and with a gesture of the Heartrender’s hand Vidar collapsed back into his seat. He looked, for a moment, that he would collapse onto the floor completely, suddenly pale and nauseated-looking, but the moment passed.

He glared around the table.

“It will be up to you to settle the issue of payment with any of your clients,” Nikolai said, coolly yet in such a way that would discourage further disagreement from Vidar.

The evenness in Vidar’s voice when he finally spoke sounded like it took effort to conjure. “Yes, your Majesty.”

“If you go on to continue writing anything that compromises Ravkan national security,” Tamar said, “then there will be consequences and they will be more severe than simply confiscating the material.”

Vidar huffed. Tamar wasn’t sure how it was that he’d settle this matter with anyone that took issue with it, or if they’d even blame Vidar at all; as far as she could tell, no one outside of this room even knew that it was he who was the writer. Probably he’d sulk about it for a while, but he’d just have to get over that. But obviously it wasn’t worth compromising Nikolai’s safety, just for the sake of this man’s artistic vision and for so that whoever paid for this stuff could wack off in peace.

Unfortunate, arguably, but not as much so as just the fact that everyone here was called for an early morning meeting about a threat to national security.

“Do you understand?” Tamar asked firmly.

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Okay,” she said. “Does anyone else have any additional questions?”

At first no one said anything, but then Nikolai asked, “So people are really asking you to write this stuff?”

“They’re not requests; they’re commissions,” Vidar said. “It might be a labour of love, but I’m not doing this for free.”

“People are commissioning you,” Zoya said, “to write about Nikolai fucking?”

Vidar blinked. “Well, yes.”

She sighed, and Tamar could practically feel what it was that Zoya wasn’t saying— _As if his ego needs any more stoking._ She reached for another book, drawing it closer and idly flipping through some of the pages without appearing to take any of it in.

“How many people have commissioned you?” Nikolai asked.

“I’d have to check my files,” Vidar said. “I have a lot of repeat customers.”

“What kind of things are they asking for?” Nikolai asked.

“Mostly stories about you,” Vidar said. “There are some other odd requests here and there that don’t have anything to do with you, but they’re the minority.”

“What’s the strangest request that you’ve ever been given?”

Vidar thought about it. “I had one request for you in the pillories after a coup, and all of the nobles that didn’t like you lining up to fuck you. That’s still a work in progress—it’s multiple parts, from different perspectives, so I had to be a bit creative just so that it wasn’t too repetitive.”

“If there’s one thing that I can say to your credit,” said David, finally speaking up after having spent thus far in the meeting skimming through all of these documents, “it’s that you are definitely not repetitive.”

Genya nodded her agreement, as did Nadia.

“Were there ever any requests that you didn’t write?”

“If there’s something that I don’t think that I can do well, then I’m up front about it.” Everyone tactfully ignored the idea of what it was that he thought he could do well. “I don’t write any adultery, because that’s just too immoral for me. I didn’t think that I’d have to specify that I don’t write bestiality, but I also never thought that people would try to commission me for any works involving Vasily, either, so go figure. And I don’t write incest.” Vidar’s brow furrowed as he shook his head in consideration. “There are a shocking number of people who have requested that I write about you fucking Vasily, or the other way around, and always I have to just say no. It is simply too immoral. I’ll never write that, even if I try to expand my talents to cover everything.”

Nikolai looked to Zoya, who had the book about Magnus Opjer and Nikolai’s little ‘diplomatic incident.’ “Hear that?” he asked. “He says that he’ll never write incest.”

Zoya snorted.

“The closest that I’ve ever come was the Darkling promising to kill Vasily,” Vidar said, before suddenly looking worriedly around. “I mean no offence, of course, if that’s a sensitive subject.”

“It really isn’t,” Nikolai said, looking at the offending document. “Okay, one more question: What are your rates?”

* * *

_“I apologise if my bed is not up to your princely standards,” said Sturmhond, smiling cruelly. His vicious white teeth glinted in the dim lighting, sending a shiver down Nikolai’s spine._

_“I suppose that it’s not what I’d usually go in for,” said Nikolai, “but I’ve slept in worse. It would do wonders for the hospitality if you could loosen the chains a little.”_

_Nikolai’s wrists were bound behind him, thick Grisha steel holding them together. His own weight pinned his arms beneath him uncomfortably, but indeed, Sturmhond’s bed wasn’t as bad as the discomfort would be if he’d been left on the deck, with only the hard wood beneath him and absolutely no one to protect him from the Privateer’s leering crew or full exposure to the weather._

_“It was good of you to give me your bed,” Nikolai said, daring Sturmhond to do something, standing in the doorway._

_Sturmhond crossed the short length of his cabin, perching upon the end of the bed like a hawk. His hand reached out and touched Nikolai’s knee, his fingers tracing the inside of his calf and sending a shiver across his skin at that overly light touch._

_“I never said that I was_ giving _you my bed,” Sturmhond said._

_“Really? Well, in that case I’ll be giving you a less than positive review for hospitality,” Nikolai said. “I will be rescued. You know that you’ve made a grave mistake by bringing me here.”_

_Sturmhond grinned lecherously. “Well, I’ll look forward to paying that. We’ll see what happens.”_

_The confidence of the privateer was disarming, and for a moment a stab of doubt shot through Nikolai—but no, he couldn’t think that way. He’d get out of here… he’d be safe…_

_Sturmhond’s hand moved up his leg. A bolt of pleasure traced the remainder of his leg until it bloomed in his cock, his bulge now massaging against the fabric from within his own trousers. Sturmhond’s grin grew more devious. “Well,” he said. “_ That _is interesting.”_

_Sturmhond crawled up the length of the small bed until he was above Nikolai, their faces only inches from one another. The longing that Nikolai had in his nether regions travelled throughout his whole body, finally reaching his hands and leaving him with an aching desire to touch Sturmhond, laying his hands across Sturmhond’s shoulders and his face, gripping his hair and driving the privateer’s head to the juncture of his thighs so that this damned sailor would finish what he started. He wanted it so badly that he ached, willing himself to have thought better about calling Sturmhond’s bluff when he’d said that Nikolai could either stay on deck or in the cabin with him…_

_For nothing, not any amount of discomfort, would be as unsettling as the desperation with which he yearned for Sturmhond’s tall, proud mast._

_“You_ bastard _,” Nikolai hissed. “Either finish what you start or—”_

_He was cut off as Sturmhond made a fist in his hair, yanking his head back so that they could see one another. For a moment they mirrored each other perfectly, in almost every way: both men barely composed, both breathing heavily, with lust clouding their vision as they gazed upon one another with furious desire coursing through them._

_The only difference, of course, was that Nikolai could not touch Sturmhond. He could do nothing except glare, willing Sturmhond to break first, to give in to the temptation that had enveloped them both in the heat of the moment._

_“Very well, your majesty,” Sturmhond said, indeed breaking first to slide a finger up the inside of his trousers, but Nikolai would hardly count it a victory until he had that Privateer’s mouth around his quivering member._


End file.
